30. I Don’t Know You

Two weeks after Luís Castillo’s murder

Dom

The ceremony hadn’t been long. Luís was devoutly catholic, but a man with limited time. He would rather people get pissed at the wake than sing songs about Heaven.

When he knew he was going to Hell.

We all were.

The longest part of our time in the church had been Leonie’s eulogy for her father. Her voice had broken multiple times, recovered with weak smiles and looks over at the blown-up picture of Luís.

Her words were beautiful. I tried not to look at her.

Even at the wake at our home, I avoided her. To think, last time we’d had a party here, I’d thrown her into the pool and nearly kissed her. There had been many nearlies.

Everyone was drinking, even the girls were, but I wouldn’t. I watched Leonie closely, while trying to keep my distance. Rebecca was at my side, trying to get me to talk. I pretended I was overcome with grief.

She grumbled something while Leonie spoke to my uncle, his hands wrapped around hers in comfort.

In the last two weeks, I’d hardly seen her, even though she was living in my house. Her scent was everywhere, her things were suffocating. She’d moved in down the hall from my room, but I still managed to avoid her.

Looking behind me to see where Rebecca had gone, Leonie approached. She rested her head on my shoulder and moaned, “This is a lot. I wish this was over.”

Only inches of us were connected, but it was too much. The pressure of her, the warmth. I wanted to touch her, squeeze her, love her. She was touching a monster.

I stepped back.

She stumbled slightly and looked up with a blink. There was at least a foot between us.

Her eyes roved over my face, waiting for me to explain. I didn’t, perfectly still.

Then she realised with a flinch as if my withdrawal caused her pain. Like the break of our friendship was a physical tear.

“You’re so incapable of emotion, you won’t even comfort me at my own father’s funeral?” she snapped, her pooled eyes narrowed in anger. A tear slipped through, a part of the grief, forced out by her anger towards me.

That’s what I would do. Force more tears.

That was all I was capable of.

All trust in her eyes evaporated, only followed by pure hatred. “I don’t know you at all.”

I shrugged and grabbed a beer from the table beside me. “I guess you don’t, no.”

Because if she did know who I was and what I had done, she would want me dead.